Fishers of Motes & (Dead) Men
About three weeks ago, I was working on the new goat barn. I have set up my workshop inside the barn, and I was using the skilsaw with a very long extension cord. I wasn’t wearing safety glasses and a chip of wood came off and went straight in my eye.
I couldn’t get it out, of course, so I hurried back to the house and started shouting to my wife.
I wasn’t afraid there was any damage, but obviously it was uncomfortable. When my wife showed up, she led me to the window for light, looked into my eye and made a little sound. The sound let me know it must be a pretty big chip.
She got some tweezers and picked it out. It was big: about 5 mm long and 2 mm wide.
The first thing I thought about was how I’d been challenging my brother-in-law (Guy) about his obsessive, obsequious admiration of Candace Owens, and his buying into her 2nd matrix malarkey, and then had been “blindsided,” so to speak, by my own Castaneda-complex.
Mote, beam, take your pick. Since Guy has only been enthralled by CO for a year or two, you could say my CC enthrallment of four decades counts as more of a beam than a mote.
The Castaneda complex is the latest symptom, or manifestation, of a current (but also ancient), ongoing process. I call it my Lucifer Working 2.0. It goes back 24 years, to 2002. If you don’t attend the online meetings, you will have to fill in the gaps with your own imaginings, as I am not going to fill them in here.
(You can find out more next spring, when Crucial Fictions comes out, God willing.)
The main point is this: when the stuff of the past, unconscious matter, traumata, starts moving around underneath the surface, as began a few months ago for me, the surface changes.
Eventually, things start floating to the surface.
Things like turds. Or corpses. Things we really don’t want to look at.
But there they are. And now we’ve seen them, we can’t just leave them there, floating around. It’s our well, our water source. Our psyche, our soul.
Nothing counts for more than cleaning that source.
Repentance, metanoia. Transformation of awareness.
We have to get our net and fish out the turds, the corpses, and whatever else got in there that doesn’t belong. To be fishers of men means fishing for dead men too. Men like Carlos Castaneda.
Go Ghost! The War Tower is all over.
Castaneda certainly qualifies as a Luciferic character. This would be especially so if he made it all up. What an imagination that would be!
I don’t really believe that, but I’m going as far as I can to allow it as a possibility. Radical doubt is necessary to identify our delusions.
Yet delusions can only be identified in relation to their opposite: reality. Truth. Goodness. Beauty.
Radical doubt is the complementary basis for radical faith. Together they lead to gnosis.
Gnosis is the ground (the body) which allows the waters of life (the soul) to gather within, to provide a source of eternal spirit.
No body, no soul. No ground, no water.
Jesus spoke in parables because physical reality is a parable of the eternal realities.
He was a carpenter, too. He probably had his share of motes.
This is a free post, part of what I hope will be a new weekly series of free posts, of 800 words or under, of current musings (in this case mostly transcribed from the last men’s meeting, where musings are free and open.)